Still Standing
by losamantesclandestinos
Summary: Sequel to 'Stand By You.' Hank and Olivia's relationship faces the ultimate test when an old enemy from the Chicago precinct's past threatens to ruin everything. Primary pairing is Benoight but various PD/NYPD squad members also make appearances.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: _This story is somewhat of a sequel to_ _ **Stand By You**_ _. You don't have to read that to understand this one necessarily but it would be helpful. Background: Hank and Olivia have been in a relationship for months after agreeing to give it a chance at the end of **Stand By You**. This story is set shortly after the events in Surrendering Noah and let's hypothesize that SN takes place about 6 months after the Crossover. I know, I know, my timeline is messed up – but work with me here. Any quotes you recognize are from SVU or Chicago PD unless otherwise noted._

Chapter One: **Shots Fired**

"Hey, Olivia." His rough voice is music to her ears, even though it might sound harsh to others. In fact, often time, it _is_ harsh to other people. Because he's usually yelling at them, threatening them, or just being intimidating in general. Hank Voight is a man of both sharp and blunt edges - and he can be as abrasive as sandpaper. That's just who he is. He doesn't kiss ass or put up with bullshit.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Liv breathes in relief.

"Benson, that doesn't even make any sense because we're not even Skyping." Voight points out, in that obnoxious yet somewhat endearing way of his. When had Hank Voight become _endearing?_ It's a miracle that Olivia's even using that word to apply to him. After all, working with Voight could be a gigantic pain in the ass. So many messes to clean up and keeping his ass in line? It was a full time job.

 _If you pull that crap again, I **will** arrest you._

And, yet, someone had to be the one to do it. So here they were, six months later, in a strong relationship. At first, when he'd asked her if she wanted to give **them** a try, she had hesitated. Her track record with men wasn't all that good and she had Noah. He was her first priority.

And she and Voight...they were so different in many ways, after all. She played things strictly by the book these days – gone were the days of her toe-ing the line or even crossing over it. She was heading her squad now and she had to play it right.

And he had this crazy tendency to not just bend the rules but outright break them. She had witnessed some of it herself.

 _And I'm asking you – do not do this to me_.

But, down in the core, they were the same. They both had dedicated their entire lives to the job. Their priority was the safety of their respective cities and justice for the victims. Both of them had been to their own respective hells and back. They were the same, he and she. And he had a strong sense of compassion and deep loyalty to his squad that she couldn't help but admire.

They're kindred spirits, she and he, despite their widely differing methods. And she's beginning to care for him more than she ever thought possible. It's been a long time since someone has made her feel this way.

 _I'm not the person I used to be_.

Quickly, she shakes her head. Now is not the time for ghosts.

"You know what I mean, you jerk." She says affectionately.

"You checking in on me?" She smiles at the phone in her hand.

"Why? You need checking in on?" He retorts.

 _Of course he is_. She could be annoyed by it, instead she's amused. They're both rusty at this relationship thing and his somewhat clumsy attempts at trying to woo her sometimes make her chuckle.

Not within his hearing, of course. She'll leave the man some dignity.

Rolling her eyes, she chuckles a little. "What's the reason for the call, Hank?"

"Do I need a reason to call my favorite NYPD detective?" He teases her lightly. "Can't I just say I miss your smiling face?"

Small talk isn't normally his forte but she's giving him kudos for trying.

Despite the events of the last weeks, she manages a grin. It's tough to resist that infamous Hank Voight charm which can be pretty lethal when he turns it on. And there are times he's turned it on a lot – long distance is hard and sometimes they've butted heads. Both of them are strong-willed and the combination can be volatile.

But somehow they'd made it through those rough patches.

And Noah absolutely loves him. He has a natural ease with her son – probably because he's been through it before and now that he has his own grandson, it's just easy for him to connect to the baby. Things are all falling together so well it's almost scary. He flies out to see her, she flies out to see him – airfare isn't too expensive and she has almost an infinite amount of vacation days she's accumulated so she's finally started to to dip into them.

She has a life now – a life outside of the job. And she's happy. More than she's ever been, despite the sorrow of losing Amaro.

But she keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You absolutely can." Olivia smiles. "But I know there's another reason for your call."

"You got me." She can picture him raising his hands in surrender. "Seriously, Liv, how you holdin' up?"

And that's a harder question to answer. When he had heard there had been a shoot out in the courtroom during Johnny D's trial, her phone had exploded. Due to complications with a case back in Chicago, he hadn't been able to fly out but he had called her every single day – including while she was in the hospital waiting to hear about Amaro. She still never figured out how he found out about that so quickly but she also knew that he has connections he never tells her about.

Sometimes it's best not to ask.

"I'm...hanging in there." She says slowly. "We're short-handed and that's difficult. Caseload has been heavy."

There's silence over the line. There's more that she isn't saying and he knows it.

"You miss Amaro." It wasn't a question.

Her throat wants to close. Three weeks later and it's still so hard to talk about. Nick had been gone three weeks and she's still trying to find her balance in this new squad room. They've had officers pinch hitting from other units and they've been okay but, they weren't Nick. Weren't the partner that she had worked with, had _grown with_ , the past four years.

 _I've grown more in these four years with you. I have a family because of you_.

Oh, Nick...

"Yes." It comes out as a whisper. There's no use lying to Voight; he can tell when she's trying to deflect.

"I'm sorry." That's all he can say. Anything more and it's just cliché. But his words are sincere and underlying note of caring and affection is true. He doesn't offer his help, doesn't say that it'll be okay because he knows that's not what she needs to hear right now.

"Oh well," Olivia smiles tightly, her eyes wet with the tears she thought she'd cried out, "things change, you know? My old captain...he told me once... _nothing changes_..."

"...except what has to. I know." Voight finishes. "You'll get through this, Olivia. Like you have before."

"I know." She sighs. "I just wasn't expecting it to be this hard." _This_ painful. I _had almost forgotten what it was like to lose a partner_. She had gotten into such a comfortable rhythm with Nick, once she had gotten past the fact that he wasn't Elliot and never would be. They had found their own partnership, one that was uniquely theirs.

"You feel up for Skyping later?" He asks. "Maybe I can put a smile on that face of yours."

"Wouldn't pass up that up." She smiles. "I could really use the laughs."

"HEY," he says in mock outrage. "just what are you trying to say here?"

Despite the ache in her chest, she grins impishly.

"I miss you, Hank."

"I miss you too, Olivia. I miss this especially..." and he says something especially dirty.

"HENRY VOIGHT!" She tries her best to sound completely outraged but she can't repress the laughter in her voice as she walks out into the New York night. She's decided she's going to walk part of the way home; it's nice weather now these days and she loves being able to smell the warm air and look at the stars. She has her service pistol with her so she feels plenty safe.

These streets...she knows them well.

He simply laughs. "Hank Voight, you're incorrigible." She scolds him.

"That's why you love me, right?"

Dead silence.

Her hands turn clammy.

There's that word again. She's always afraid when she hears that word. Because all of the ones who have said it have left.

It's such a small thing and, yet, so very big.

"Look, Liv, I'm sorry." he says apologetically. He's very aware of her reticence when it comes to this word. He's never really said it to her, except in a jesting way. It's a sore point and he gets it. Voight's loved few people in his life and one of them is buried in a small cemetery out where the winds blow wild and free.

"Don't be." She laughs it off, trying to ease his discomfort. "I know what you meant."

This time the silence that settles over the phone is thick with tension. Over the past two months, she's become fairly certain that Voight loves her. He hasn't said it – in large part due to her own skittishness on the subject. She's okay with the exclusivity but has been reluctant to talk about going further than what they have right now. It's only been six months.

 _I love you._

 _I love you too, Brian. Always will._

Goddamned ghosts. They still take up so much space in her head.

Their own squads don't even know about them, although the frequent trips to Chicago have been probably tipping them off. But if they've figured it out, none of them have let on.

The leaves crunch under her feet as she heads toward her apartment.

"Walking home tonight?" He asks.

She's relieved for the change of subject. "Yes. The nights have been really lovely here."

"Got your service pistol?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, Hank, would you quit fussing? I'll be fine. I've been walking these streets long before we met, you know."

His low chuckle makes her smile. It always does. "You know I have to do it."

"Quit being such a pain in the ass, Voight."

"Come on, Benson, you know you like it."

"I..."

"Stop right there." A voice breaks into their conversation. "Give me your money."

Olivia whirls around, her phone falling to the ground. There's a masked figure standing in front of her, holding a gun. "Okay," she raises her hands, "let's not be hasty." She backs up slowly, staying between him and her phone.

 _Please, Hank, I hope to God you're still on the line._

"Shut up, bitch." The voice is harsh and cruel. "Just get me the fucking money."

She reaches for her purse, ignoring the "Olivia? Liv? What the hell's going on?" coming from her cell phone. _Hank, get off the fucking line._

"Don't answer the fucking phone." The man warns her. "Just give me your purse. Hand it over. No stupid moves."

Olivia slowly reaches for her purse and tosses it at him and then quickly moves to reach for her gun.

"I said NO stupid moves, bitch." And a gunshot echoes in the air, the sharp crack shattering the noises of the New York night.

And all is silence.

Olivia feels a piercing pain in her chest and staggers backward, falling to the ground, hitting her head on the cement. She has barely time to think _who is going to take care of Noah_ and _man, this hurts like a motherfucker_ before the dark claims her like a smothering blanket.

…..

"GODDAMMIT." Hank Voight swears, slamming down the phone. "Get me Manhattan SVU right now!" He bellows at Adam Ruzek.

"Sure, boss." Adam quickly dials the phone, handing it to his superior. Hank almost rips it out of Ruzek's hand. Adam exchanges concerned glances with Olinsky. Voight's close to coming slightly unglued and it's unnerving the young Intelligence

"This is Hank Voight." He says curtly.

"Oh, hi, Sergeant Voight – this is Amanda Rollins..."

He cuts her off brutally. "I remember you. We don't have time for this. There's been a problem." He quickly tells Rollins what he's heard.

"Get a trace on Liv's cell NOW." He hears her bellow at someone in the squad. "Sergeant Voight, I'm gonna have you talk to Odafin Tutuola, he's our acting number two."

"Fine. Just someone. Find her. NOW."

Voight vaguely remembers Liv's number two. He likes the guy. Close mouthed and awfully eager to shoot perps. He can relate.

"What's goin' on, Sergeant Voight?" Fin asks calmly.

He explains, getting more and more frustrated. If he has to fucking tell his story one more time...

"We're on it." Fin says firmly. "Thanks for lookin' out for her."

"Detective Tutuola," Hank says quickly, before he can hang up, "can you..."

"I'll be in touch." Fin says.

"You do that." Hank says sharply.

To his credit, Fin doesn't respond in kind, simply hangs up.

Hank stalks to his office, slams his door behind him, and slumps down in his chair, putting his head in his hands, hoping desperately that the sound he had heard over the phone was just a car backfiring.

He's been through this type of thing before. The waiting is always the worst.

And the clock's ticking has never seemed so loud.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: _I've got a pretty good idea where this story is going so, hopefully, you'll be getting some fairly regular updates. As always, recognizable characters and quotes aren't mine._

Chapter Two: **On The Ledge**

It's only been three hours later but it feels like much more. And the clock is ticking – the noise is so loud in the abnormal stillness of the precinct. Hank goes over, grabs it, and throws it to the floor. It shatters into pieces and Hank walks over to it, kicks the pieces, and stares out into the Chicago night, blacker than pitch. Rubbing his hands over his face, he takes in a deep breath. Losing control wouldn't help Olivia.

"Did that help?" A quiet voice asks from behind him.

It's Olinsky. Goddamned busybody – can't he just go away?

"What the hell are you still doing here?" Voight muttered angrily.

"Had some paperwork left to do. And maybe it's a good thing I stayed behind from Molly's." Alvin says quietly, walking into the room, kicking aside the pieces of the now-dead clock. "What's going on, Hank?"

"Just a case." He responds tersely.

"Not buyin' it." Olinsky puts his hands in his pockets, looking keenly at his sergeant and his friend.

"Well, you're gonna have to!" Hank barks.

"Does this have to do with all those trips you've been takin' to New York?" Alvin asks, unpreturbed by his friend's temper. After all these years, Voight doesn't phase him. Not in the slightest.

"What the hell do you know about that?"

"It's not a secret, Hank." Olinsky says calmly. "And we _are_ detectives. And the only time I've seen - any of us have seen you this upset is when it hits close to home."

"All of them hit close to home." Hank says coolly. "This is my city. These are my people."

"We're not talking about a Chicago case." Alvin responds. "We've gotten no alerts from you about ongoing or new investigations. This is about New York, doesn't it?" His eyes lock with Voight's and Hank realizes he can't just bullshit his old friend.

 _Lean on your team_. It wasn't too long ago that Erin had been in that same doorway, counseling him about what to do when he and Olive had been assaulted and snatched. This wasn't really the way he wanted to disclose but it wasn't to the whole squad yet and Alvin should probably know.

"Alvin, there's something you should probably know..." he says slowly, choosing his words with care. "It's about Sergeant Benson..."

"You've been seeing her." Olinsky says, straight faced. "C'mon, Hank, I've known you, what, eighteen years? And you've been flying to New York every few weeks." He gives Hank a "give me _some_ credit" look.

"Heh." Voight barks shortly and looks out on the Chicago skyline. It's then that Alvin senses that there is something very wrong.

"I was on the phone with her tonight." He says quietly, his voice even raspier than normal. Olinsky knows that's normally when he's in the grip of unusually strong emotions.

"I heard her get robbed. And it sounded like there was a shot fired." He runs his hand over his face and his voice breaks a little. Alvin walks over and puts a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Coulda been a car backfiring." He says reassuringly.

"I called her squad." Voight pulls himself together and it's like that small break has never happened. "I'm still waiting for word."

"If she was shot, they'll find the guy that did it. They're good police, Voight."

"I wanna be there when they do." Hank's face is hard. Olinsky knows that face.

Before Olinsky can say anything else, Hank's phone rings.

"Voight." Olinsky motions to Hank that he'll be in the precinct and walks out of his office, shutting the door behind him.

"This is Detective Odafin Tutuola, Sergeant."

"What can you tell me, Detective?" Hank barks, nerves frayed from the last few hours.

"We were able to get to her in time." Fin says quietly.

…...

" _Carisi! Call a damn bus. NOW!" Fin roars, kneeling by the all too still body of his commanding officer. "Officer DOWN."_

 _Bending over Liv's prone body, Fin feels at her shirt and his fingers come in contact with the bloodstain. "Aw shit, stay with me, babygirl." He puts his finger on her neck, relieved to find a pulse, as faint as it was. He places both of his hands over the bloodstain, trying to stop the blood._

" _Hang in there, Liv. Don't you give up on me._

 _He's not crying, he swears. There's dust in the air and it's just irritating his eyeballs._

… _..._

"What happened?" Hank's voice is low, quiet, and deadly. Most people on the receiving end of this tone of voice usually ended up out at the silos or in the river with a 'Chicago necklace.'

"She took a bullet to the chest."

 _Fin's sitting across from her in the ambulance. There's an oxygen mask over Liv's face and her vitals...they're weak. So weak. And, all of a sudden..._

" _Dammit, she's flatlining!" The paramedic jumps to Liv's side._

 _And all Fin can do is sit there._

" _Come on, Liv, don't give up on me. Don't give up on me."_

… _..._

She flatlined in the bus but they were able to get her stabilized.." Fin keeps talking but Hank almost misses the rest – all he can seem to hear is the word " **flatline**." "...we were able to get to her in time but the bullet had nicked a lung. She's still in surgery. But," he adds, in a quieter tone, as if sensing the man's fear, "Liv's tough. She's gonna pull through."

"Any leads?" Voight spits the words out like they're some nasty medicine he's been forced to ingest. And he doesn't completely succeed in masking the utter terror in his voice. Inwardly he curses and hopes that Tutuola doesn't pick up on it. He doesn't trust himself to say anything else, simply grips the phone tighter, knuckles white. Hank doesn't want to talk about tough Liv is or isn't. He doesn't want to think. He just wants them to find the son of a bitch who did this to her. And all he can think about is that she's still in surgery; she's not out of the woods yet.

She could still die.

And the thought terrifies him.

He's not ready to lose somebody else that he...cares about.

Fin's telling him that the guy was a moron and actually dumped the weapon in a nearby garbage can. "It's looking right now that the perp was just a dumb shit who got in way over his head. He didn't even take Liv's phone. Ballistics should be able to pick up somethin' on the gun."

"Okay, thanks." Voight chokes out. "Keep me updated. This isn't a request." Abruptly, he hangs up.

On the other end, Fin stares at the phone, a little pissed. He doesn't have to fucking answer to some rogue cop in Chicago, no matter how helpful he's been in the past. _Why the hell is he so interested in Liv anyway?_ Reviewing the conversation, he frowns. Voight'd been on the phone with Liv ~ and, lately Liv had been going out of town to Chicago an awful lot...

 _Aw, shit, babygirl, why didn't you tell me?_

He wasn't just dealing with a concerned friend; but something much deeper than that.

 _I'm getting too old for this shit._

Shaking his head, he walks back into the squad room – Carisi and Rollins are over at the ER, waiting for a further update on Liv's condition. Carisi's been checking in what feels like every 30 seconds – Fin sighs and takes another large gulp of the piss-poor stuff they call coffee. He's forgotten what it's been like to be that damn young and as hyper as a newborn puppy.

Goddammit, he still needs to deal with One PP.

Fuck this shit.

…...

He's now been up for nearly 18 hours – and every part of his body feels it. It's been two hours since Tutuola's last update and the waiting's been unbearable. He just...can't _not_ do something. So he sits down at his computer and navigates to Priceline. _To hell with the goddamned waiting._

 _Chicago to New York_.

"Hey," another soft voice greets him from the doorway. It's Erin.

 _Why the fuck won't they leave him alone?_

"I said you needed to go home earlier. Or don't you listen to me anymore?" His words are sharp but there's no bite in his tone.

"What's goin' on, Hank?" Lindsay asks. "Olinsky came out of here muttering something about you needing some personal time."

"Olinsky needs to keep his goddamn mouth shut." Hank retorts wearily. "It's nothing. There, you've done your job. Now go home, Erin."

Erin folds her arms across her chest. "And if I don't?"

"Don't push me." He snaps. "Now is not the time."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just...let's not talk about this right now, Erin." And there's something in his voice that makes Lindsay look closely at him. He looks the way he did when he found out that Nick had been killed, like something in him had just...broken. There are times when Voight's not the type to show much emotion but when that happens, Erin knows where to look.

The secret's in the eyes. And Voight's eyes are both shuttered and shattered – are those the glint of tears or a trick of the light?

It's hard to tell.

"Hank, lean on your team." Erin says. "We're supposed to trust one another. Don't shut me out."

"Don't ask me to tell you." Voight whispers, his voice the sound of harsh water rapids over rough rocks.

And that frightens Lindsay more than anything else. He's terrified. And she doesn't know what to do.

She quickly looks over and scans his computer screen – unabashedly unashamed to be snooping. And she sees the Expedia site.

"You goin' somewhere?" She asks, eyes narrowed at him. "And you weren't gonna tell us? Does Alvin know?"

"I need to take some personal time." Voight says sharply. "I'm leaving Al in charge. I trust you can handle that?"

That "keep out" sign was up, blazing "do not pass go, do not enter."

"Where are you going?" Lindsay persists. She's never been very good at paying attention to signs.

Voight just glares at her and opens his mouth to tell her to butt the hell out when his phone rings again.

"Voight here."

"Good news or bad news first?"

"Just give it to me, dammit." Voight's now been up for almost 24 hours and he's exhausted, terrified, and angry.

"Good news: they were able to repair the damage to the lung. Luckily, the bullet didn't pierce the lung directly, so the repairs were fairly easy. Bad news: the bullet clipped some arteries and Liv bled heavily. They were able to eventually close the holes but she lost a lot of blood. When she fell, she also hit her head and got a severe concussion. She's now in a coma."

Voight exhales deeply.

"She's gonna be okay." Fin says calmly, though there's a deep weariness in his voice. Like he's been through hell and back and is just managing to stay upright on his feet. "It's just gonna take time. She'll be out of commission for a while."

"I'm gonna be on the next flight out." Voight interrupts him. "I want to get the guy who did this."

To his surprise, Fin doesn't seem too taken aback by this. "Do what you want." Voight can practically hear him shrug over the phone. "But the case is in our jurisdiction and you follow our lead, ya got that?" This was said a bit more sharply. "Don't go pullin' some dumbass shit while you're over here."

"Understood." Voight's hard put to bite back his anger but he gets where Fin's coming from and he's not going to argue jurisdiction and lines over the phone. And, as far as the NYPD would know, he'd color in the lines

Shutting off the phone, Voight goes back to his computer.

"Hank." Erin says. He looks up, startled. He's almost forgotten that she's there.

"Go home, Erin." He says wearily.

"Is it Olivia?" She asks shrewedly.

 _What the hell? How many people know about this?_ But, then again, Ruzek and Burgess thought they were being sly when they hid their little romance. They were godawful at it.

He thought he'd been more subtle.

Voight doesn't respond. He's not going to give Lindsay any ammo.

"Hank," she says quietly, coming over and laying a gentle hand on his arm, "we're _Intelligence_ , for Christ's sake. I've known there's been something there for awhile. You've been different ever since she was here for Nadia's funeral. Happier. I haven't seen you like this since before – Mom - Camille died."

He doesn't say a word, just purses his lips tightly. And because she's Erin, she just keeps going.

"It's okay to move on, Hank. She would have wanted you to be happy. She would have wanted _all_ of us to be happy."

"This is none of your damned business." Hank finally says quietly but there's no heat there.

"Fine, we won't talk about that. Just know that it's okay with me." She raises her hands, "Yeah, I know, I know, you don't need my damned approval either. Just want you to know that, ok?"

Lindsay then narrows her eyes. "But all of this - it is about her, isn't it?"

He's just too tired to argue anymore so he nods.

"She was shot tonight – while we were on the phone."

Erin slumps into a chair next to him. "Oh my God. Is she gonna be okay?"

"I thought I told you to go home." He bites out softly.

"Is that an order, boss?" She asks quietly. _Lean on your team_. And Erin reaches over and puts a gentle hand on the shoulder of the only real father that she's ever known. Squad is family, this is _their_ family, and whatever hurts a member of this family hurts the rest of them.

"She's in a coma right now but they're hopeful she'll make it. I'm takin' a flight out tomorrow morning."

"Let us know if there's anything we can do." Erin grips his shoulder and gets up to leave.

"Wait," Hank stops her before she goes out the door and pulls her into a tight bear hug, "thanks, kid. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, you know that?"

Erin leans back and grins at him, an impish twinkle in her eye. "Second best now." She pats his arm. "Go to her – we got this."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: _I know absolutely nothing about ICUs and doctors so anything medical that is completely wrong is totally due to my ignorance._

Chapter Three: **Stay With Me**

"Hank Voight. I'm here to see Sergeant Benson." Voight leans across the reception desk. By God, he's not going to take a no from some uptight receptionist who was already looking that she was smelling something dirty. Maybe she was.

It'd been a long flight – one that was absurdly early and with multiple delays since the weather hadn't been cooperating. He had supposed to be in New York at around noon – it's now around 6:00pm. He also hadn't been able to leave the morning after her shooting as he had planned – the flights had been all booked, so he had to wait yet another day.

Hank Voight was not a happy camper.

It'd taken too goddamned long to get to Liv's side and no snotty bitch was going to stop him.

"Are you family?" She asks snippily, eyebrow raised.

"Yes." Hank doesn't even have to think about it. Bitch Receptionist gives him a cool glare, not in the least intimidated by the burly, intimidating Chicago sergeant leaning over her desk. "One moment, please." She says snootily.

"Goddammit, I don't have fucking time for this." Voight mutters.

"He's with us." Surprisingly, he's rescued by Odafin Tutuola, who has stopped by to check in on Liv's condition.

"And you are?" Bitch receptionist looks like she's tasted something particularly unpleasant. Fin's not phased, he's dealt with attitudes like hers before.

"Senior Detective Odafin Tutuola and Sergeant Benson is my commanding officer. Now you're gonna let us back there or I'm gonna to have words with your supervisor, got it?" Voight's eyebrow raises only slightly – clearly, he's not the only one at the end of his patience. Fin's got the universal _do not fuck with me_ look on his face.

"She's in the ICU. Derek here can take you back." She shrugs.

"Good. Now was that so hard?" Fin can't resist making a jab as he walks by.

"Thanks for that, Detective Tutuola." Voight says.

"No problem. God, those receptionists can be a pain in the ass." Fin grumbles and turns around to Voight. "Look, before we go back there, I just wanna get some things straight with you." He stares Voight down.

Hank's not remotely nervous at all and simply gazes steadily back.

"Olivia's not just my CO, she's my friend. And if you hurt her," Fin's eyes narrow, "I will hurt you. I don't give a fuck how high you are up on the chain of command. Got it?"

"10-4." Voight nods. He gets it. He'd be the exact same way. Hell, he'd been expecting this.

"Good. Then we understand each other." Fin shakes his hand. "And maybe I won't have to beat your ass."

"I'd like to see you try, Detective." Voight's mouth quirks up in a faint grin.

"Don't tempt me, Voight. I still kinda like you and I think Liv would have an issue with me beatin' her boyfriend black and blue."

Voight stops at the mention of the "b" word.

"Dude, do you think we really wouldn't figure it out?" Fin shakes his head. "We're _detectives_." He deliberately avoids mentioning the fact that he actually hadn't figured it out for months. Gotta save some dignity here.

"Don't call me that." Voight mutters.

"Whatever." Fin shrugs. "Whatever makes her happy, man. It's cool with me. As long as you don't hurt her."

Voight purses his lips. Can they just stop talking about this?

"One more thing," Fin says, "I don't think the others know. So you're cool."

"Let's keep it that way, ok?" Hank mutters. God, the last thing he needs is their relationship to be fodder at the water cooler. Cops can be such gossipy old ladies.

"They ain't hearin' it from me." Fin says.

"Anything on the ballistics?" Voight's eager to change the subject as they head back to the ICU.

"Yeah, they found a few fingerprints. Traced 'em to one Ricardo Hernandez. Got a rap sheet for drug possession and drug distribution. Funny thing, though.." Fin says thoughtfully, "those priors were all in Chicago."

Voight stops and frowns. "What the hell was Hernandez doin' here in New York?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Fin frowns. "Carisi and Rollins are doin' some checking into his background but I'm not gonna lie, Voight, One PP's probably gonna send someone to take over this case. Not sure how much longer I'll have control of it."

"Then I'll help." Voight says firmly.

"Like you weren't gonna anyway."

"True." He shrugs.

"Just don't pull any of your shit, Voight."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I'm getting too old for this shit." Fin mutters, rolling his eyes.

"You must be Detective Tutuola. I'm Doctor Luke Spencer, the criticial care medicine specialist." A doctor in a white coat steps forward and shakes his hand.

"This is Sergeant Voight." Fin gestures to Hank. "He's a friend and consulting on the case. How she doin'?"

"Her prognosis is good as long as the wound stays uninfected. So far she's stable, the damage to the arteries was repaired, and the injury to the lung was not severe. She hasn't awakened - which we're not too concerned about yet. Sometimes it's just the body trying to heal itself, not necessarily a cause for concern. It'll take some time – if things go well, I anticipate her being in the hospital for at least a week. But she should be out of the ICU in the next 24-48 hours if there's no infection." He frowned. "She got lucky, the damage could have been a whole lot worse. Luckily, it seems as if the shooter wasn't too terribly good at his job."

He indicates the room a few feet down from where they're standing. "She's in there. You can see her for a few moments. Good luck finding the bastard who did this."

"Thanks, doc." Fin says.

Once Spencer has left, he turns to Voight. "Look, I'm gonna come back later. Give you two some time alone. Plus, I need to go check and see if the squad room is still standing."

"I get it, you left the kiddies alone."

"Yeah." Fin smiles a little. "Just wanna make sure it's still standin' when Liv gets back. New guy's a bit unpredictable when he's had too much coffee."

"Good luck."

"I'll be in touch."

"Thanks." Hank walks into the room and sits down at the chair by Benson's bedside.

The Sergeant in the bed is a shadow of the strong, vibrant woman he's gotten so close to in the last many months. She looks almost frail with all the tubes and wires coming out of her arms and the tube running underneath her nose. There are circles under her closed eyes and her brow is pinched, as if in pain. And she's frighteningly pale.

He takes her hand, which seems so small and still, in his roughened one.

"I'm so sorry, Olivia." He chokes out. He's away from the prying eyes of the public and another squad, so he lets his mask slip a little. "I shoulda been there for you. I'm sorry I wasn't. But we're gonna get the guy who did this to you. I promise."

There's no response from her but he didn't expect one. He just keeps rubbing her hand with his thumb. "Your number two..." he says, barking out a fragile laugh, "he figured us out. Guess we weren't as good as we thought about hiding this. Goddamn, and here I've been making fun of Ruzek and Burgess. Tutuola's a good cop – he'll nail this guy."

"When I found out what happened to you, I got on the quickest flight out here. Which actually turned into the goddamned slowest flight of all time. And, shit, Liv, these flights ain't cheap, you know. I even put up with the shit that's United Airlines. God, I hate them. But I was willing to put up with them and their lousy excuse for coffee. _That's_ how crazy you made me, Benson. When you're all better and through all this, we're gonna have a talk about you worrying the shit out of me." He grins slightly. "But I'd do anything for you, you know that? You got this old dog by the balls." Shaking his head, Voight leans down, "Fuck, Olivia..." his voice cracks..."don't ever fucking do that to me again. Stay with me, Olivia. Stay with me." He presses his lips to her forehead, it's cold and clammy and his heart breaks a little more.

"Why...Hank Voight..." the words come out as a tiny whisper, "I...didn't...know you...cared."

Hank's so startled he steps back awkwardly and almost trips over the chair.

"Liv?" He can't believe she's heard him and he's almost afraid that he's hallucinating from lack of sleep and crappy coffee.

"Hey..." Her eyes are very open, they're tired and full of pain, but there's a ghost of a smile flitting across her face. "...if I knew this was what...it'd take...for you to get here so quickly..."

"Don't even joke about that, Olivia." Hank stops her before she can say anything else. "Do you know how fucking worried I was about you? How worried they all have been?"

"It's...ok..." she breathes, "...I'm still here..."

"But you almost goddamned _weren't_!" He has to restrain himself from shouting. He's coming unraveled and he can't have that. The mask isn't just slipping, it's almost completely shattered. And soon she's going to see...and he can't have that.

He feels a pressure on his hand, looks down, and realizes she's trying to squeeze it. She's in the ICU still, trying to heal from what could have been a fatal wound, and she's trying to make him feel better.

Voight sits down in the chair, and keeps holding her hand.

"I'm...sorry, I can't talk much..." she says, and it's obvious to him how hard it is for her to talk.

"It's okay, I'm just glad..." he can't bring himself to finish, because he doesn't trust his voice to hold. _I'm just glad you're not six feet under_.

"I'm...glad...you're here..." the smile she gives him is weak but she's the most beautiful thing he's seen in his life, even with the circles, the pallor, the drawn look of her face. "...Noah?...is Noah...ok?"

"Amaro's mom and your nanny...Lucy?...they're taking care of him." Voight says.

"Can you...check on him? Please?"

He had fully intended on doing that anyway, but even if he hadn't, there was no way he could resist her. He'd follow her to hell and back.

Fuck, he was so whipped. Somehow in the last six months, Olivia Benson had become as important to Hank Voight as breathing.

He was so goddamned fucking in love with her, he can't even see straight.

"I'm okay, Hank." She whispers, her energy flagging. "I'm...not going anywhere. You...think a lousy bullet...could take me down?" And there's a glimmer of the spark that he normally sees in her eyes.

"Quit scaring the hell out of us, then, superwoman." He laughs – it's a shaky laugh but he manages to get it out.

"10-4." _Message received_.

"I'm gonna let you get some rest. Surprised the doc hasn't been in to kick me out."

"He's...feeling...sorry for you." She teases lightly...and coughs.

"Hey, take it easy. Stop talking." Voight touches her shoulder. "We're gonna get the guy who did this. Fin and the squad are fine – he'll be back later. He told me he wanted to make sure the place was still standing for when you got back."

Olivia smiles faintly.

"Rest." Voight leans down. "That's an order, Sergeant Benson."

"We're...the same rank, Voight."

"Just shut up, Benson." Brushing his face gently with his calloused knuckles, he kisses her. On the mouth this time, nuzzling her nose with his.

She was gonna be okay and all was right with the world.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:** I'm sorry for the very late update. I've been suffering from severe writer's block and, well, other health issues so it's been a challenge to get this much out and I'm sorry if it's not up to par. I will try to be less awful with my updates but I can't guarantee it. Thank you so much for your understanding._

Chapter Four: **Baby Steps**

"Hey kid," Voight grins at Noah, bouncing the baby – well, not so much a baby anymore as a rather rambunctious and, if truth be told, sassy toddler. A toddler that rather enjoyed running Uncle Hank until he was ragged. Voight had forgotten how exhausting young kids could be but he's enjoying reliving the experience through Noah and his own grandson.

There were many days he still can't fucking believe he was a _grandfather_. And, boy, did Liv get a kick out of it. She'd tease him about how well he'd do things _for an old man_. That usually ended with her underneath him. "I'll show you _old_." He'd whisper into her ear as he slid into her. And she'd laugh.

God, how he wanted her back in his arms. In his bed. Just _with_ him.

Noah starts babbling excitedly, as he usually did when Voight was around. _Want to play with Elmo? Want to have some froot-loops? Mommy never lets me have those – maybe you could let me have them, please?_

"Kid, you really gotta learn to start talking. Giving me that look doesn't tell me anything."

Noah's lower lip sticks out in a pout and his green blue eyes start filling up with tears.

 _Mommy can always tell what I'm thinking. Where is Mommy?_

Voight looks at Noah somewhat suspiciously. He's been the recipient of the teary eyes many times and usually they'd go away once he gave Noah what he was, most of the time Noah either wanted something with sugar in it or his Mommy – neither of which Voight could give him right now.

"No, Noah." Mrs. Amaro walks over and lifts the fretful toddler out of Voight's arms. "You cannot have more sugar now, _entiendes_?"

Noah manages a glare through his tears. _I don't like you. Where's Mommy? I want to go back to Uncle Hank. He'll give me sugar – I just need a few more minutes..._

"It's time for your nap now, _hijo_." She clucks at him affectionately, smoothing his hair. Noah still has a sulky look on his face, sniffling angrily. Voight covers his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh at the clearly disgruntled toddler.

"Say goodbye to Uncle Hank." Mrs. Amaro says, trying to calm the irate baby down.

Noah reaches out for Hank and starts to cry. _I don't wanna go to bed. I don't want to take a nap. I want my Elmo. I want my froot loops. I want my MOMMY. I DON'T WANT TO GO TO BED._

"It's okay, kid." Voight says affectionately. "I'll see you soon. And your mommy will be home before you know it."

Olivia was going to be all-right – she just had to be.

…

"Tutuola." Hank gives Fin a quick call to update the detective on his CO's condition.

"Hey, man, what's goin' on? How's Liv?"

"She woke up. She's gonna be okay." And, for a moment, there is complete silence, but a silence that is absolutely loaded with emotions. Relief, worry, fear... they're almost tangible.

Voight could sense rather than hear the sigh of relief over the other end of the phone.

"Good, good…look, Sergeant Voight, we got somethin' we think you should see. You free to come down?"

"I'm gonna check in on Liv again but I'll be there when I can. Anything you can tell me over the phone?"

"Turns out Hernandez has relatives in New York. An aunt – Yolanda Diaz."

"Name doesn't ring a bell." Voight frowns. And yet an alarm in his head goes off. As if he should know that name somehow.

"That name wouldn't – but another might. Yolanda Diaz has a nephew who has a long list of priors, most of them committed in Chicago. He goes by Adres but most people call him…."

"Pulpo. Yeah. I know. Fuck." Voight spits into the receiver, rubbing his face with his hand. _No. Not this. Not again._

"It's why I called you." Fin says quietly. "Adres looks like he's tangled with Chicago PD."

"That's one way of puttin' it." Voight says tightly, his hand gripping his phone tightly. "He was responsible for the kidnapping of the son of one of my detectives whom he later shot. He also was responsible for the murder of one of my detectives." _And if I had my way, he'd be at the bottom of the fucking river with a Chicago necklace wrapped around his scrawny neck._

 _He should have killed the son of a bitch when he had the chance._

"We've got a BOLO out on Hernandez. Little shit shouldn't get too far." Fin comments.

"We can only hope he's as big a dumbass on the run as he was in trying to gun down Liv." Voight mutters. "I'll be over there shortly. I'm gonna check in on Liv."

"See ya. Don't wear her out or I'll kick your ass." Voight could hear the faint smirk in the detective's voice over the phone.

"10-4." Voight quirks a grin. He likes Fin. Tutuola took no bullshit and wasn't afraid to speak his mind. They were two of a kind in that way.

…..

"Hank." Olivia's face is still white and he doesn't like the pinched look to it but there was a bit more color in it than there'd been the day before.

"Hey, Liv, how ya feelin'?" He grins at her affectionately, not a hint of the worry he had been feeling the last few days on his face.

"Pissed off." She smiles faintly. "They won't let me go home, Hank."

"Liv." He shakes his head at her, rolling his eyes. _So stubborn_. "You took a bullet to the chest. Of course they're not gonna let you go. Did you really think you were gonna bounce back the next day and just go home?"

"I just hate this goddamned bed." She grumbles. "I hate not being able to do anything but just lie here." Beneath the anger, Hank can hear the frustration, the worry…and a note of fear. As if she was just now realizing how close she'd come to not being here. "I miss my son."

"I can tell you he's doin' just fine." Voight grins at her. "A little cranky and tryin' to bat those eyes of his at me to get out of takin' a nap."

Liv rolls her eyes. "He probably wants sugar and Elmo too."

"Can you blame him? That baby food is disgusting." Voight makes a face.

Liv simply chuckles. "I'm just wanting him to be healthy, Hank. That sugar stuff isn't good for him."

"But it tastes fucking better than the other crap." He mumbles.

Liv looks at him reprovingly, with a little twinkle in her eye. "You didn't feed him any of it, did you?"

Voight gave her his best _who, me_ face. He's used it on her many times. Usually when he's pulled some shit she wouldn't like. Which he did on a frequent basis.

He can't help himself.

"Hank…" she says warningly.

"I didn't, Liv." He holds up his hands. "But it _is_ fun seeing you squirm. Although…" he takes a seat next to her, speaking softly so only she can hear, "…there's a whole different kind of squirming that I'd rather see you doing."

"Henry Voight!" Liv's face flushes bright red.

"There. Now you have more color in your face." He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms with a smirk on his face. "Mission accomplished.'

Liv glares at him but has a hard time repressing her smile. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Voight."

"I have a few ideas." He grins impishly at her.

 _Oh, I bet you do_...

"Is your mind ever out of the gutter?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

"When it comes to you, never." Voight eyes her mischievously. "Where's the fun in that?"

Liv starts to laugh and then starts coughing, struggling a little to regain her breath.

Voight leans forward with concern. "Don't tire yourself out, Liv. My jokes aren't that good."

"You're damn right about that." She manages a wink and a wan smile.

"I'm hurt." Voight gave her a mock pouting face.

Olivia merely rolls her eyes.

He put his hand on hers and rubs it with his thumb. To his worry, she feels warm. "Liv, are you sure you're okay?"

"Sure." She replies, a ghost of her old grin flitting across her face, "I've never been better."

"You can't lie to me." Voight says, no smile on his face now. "I know you, Liv."

"I'm _fine_ , Hank." She touches his hand back. "As fine as anyone could be with a bullet in their chest."

He looks at her intently, mouth set, lines deepening around his eyes.

"Stop worrying. I'll be back busting _your_ chops before you know it."

 _-God, Liv, you know just what to say to turn me on.-_

"I just don't want anything else to happen to you." He says. Clearing his throat in a somewhat unaccustomed burst of emotion, he starts, "Liv…" And there's so much he wants to say to her. What was on his mind when he was waiting for news about her, those long bleak hours after Erin had left. When he had thought he'd lost her.

Liv looks at him intently. "You don't have to say anything." She interrupts him, her smile a little sad. "I know." She knows because she's been there. Plunged deep in the darkness of anxiety and fear.

Voight leaned forward and over and kissed her, his mouth hot and fierce on hers. Bringing his face down to hers, she kisses him back deeply. "I'll be okay." She whispers reassuringly. "Now, speaking of busting chops, have you caught this asshole yet?"

"Not yet but we got some leads." He leans back in his chair, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"What did they find?" She looks at him keenly.

"Nothing important." He says dismissively. "Nothing for you to worry about right now."

"Hank Voight." She glares at him, more like the badass Benson he's familiar with. "Don't you pull this 'you're too fragile for this' shit or I'll kick your ass. You know better."

"Olivia." He looks at her seriously. "As soon as I got some tangible leads, you'll be the first to know. Right now we're just chasing theories."

She sighed. "Did I happen to mention how much I hate being stuck in this bed?"

"Only a few million times." He smiles.

"I'm really glad you came." Liv looks up at him. Voight's breath catches in his chest as he looks into her eyes, _really_ looks, there was such vulnerability there and it scares him a little. He isn't used to seeing her this way – it isn't often that she lets down her walls for him to see her fears. Neither of them are very good at vulnerability.

"I wish I coulda come sooner but you know how airplanes are. Too goddamn slow." He smiled a little, trying to reassure her. "Liv, we're going to find the guy who did this."

"I know you will." Benson's eyes are fluttering, she's exhausted and simply can't stay awake anymore.

Voight leans down and kisses her briefly, running his thumb along her face. "I'll be back soon." He promises.

She's too tired to say anything else but her smile gives Hank the answer he needs.

 _I love you._


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: _Sorry for the long delay. I've been struggling with some very bad writer's block and it's halted all of my stories in progress. I'm trying to work through it but it's taking some time. So if people seem OOC a little in this chapter, blame my damn block. Thanks for your patience. Here we go!_

Chapter Five: **Dead Ends And Steps Backwards**

"Where are we on this guy?" Voight barks, striding into the precinct like he owns the place.

Rollins bites back the impulse to tell him to ease up, this isn't Chicago and this aren't his people but she refrains. While Fin hasn't told her anything about Olivia and Voight, Rollins wasn't stupid. For Christ's sake, they were all detectives.

She can tell that Hank Voight is taking this very personally. As personally as they all took one of their own being shot, there was an edge to his concern that makes her suspect this whole situation is hitting Voight much harder than he was letting on. That there were, in fact, deeper ties between her Sergeant and the hard bitten pit bull from Chicago than they'd ever suspected.

So she manages to hold her tongue and lets Fin handle Voight.

Let him be the chill to Hank Voight's blazing inferno of a fire.

"Hernandez is a dumb fuck." Fin comments. "Left his fingerprints all over the fucking gun. Wasn't hard to figure out where his aunt lived. Sent a couple of unis over there this morning but Hernandez had left. And she wasn't answering the door. Kinda surprised the little shit had the presence of mind to do even that."

"I want to talk to her." Voight turns to Fin, his face set. "She probably knows where he is, even if he's not around."

Fin pauses for a moment, consideringly. He's seen Voight in action – at the best of times, Hank Voight would not be described as having a great bedside manner. And this is _Fin's_ squad while Liv is recovering and, despite the fact that he likes Voight, he sure as hell doesn't want an outsider fucking things up. While there have been many times where Fin wished he could have just shot the perp and saved the taxpayers some money, blowing their ass away wasn't worth the heat from IAB, who was already breathing down their neck, making sure they dotted their i's and crossed their t's.

But, shit, he wished he could just shoot the bastard and save all the expense.

"Take Rollins with you." Is all he says.

Voight tries to object. If he can't have his squad, he'd rather work alone. To hell with jurisdiction, this was _Liv_. And he'd be damned if he let Adres fuck with his family one more time and stay breathing.

"My city. My squad." Tutuola says firmly. "Come on, man, you know this is what Liv would want. Gotta play this one by the book."

 _Fuck the goddamned book_. Voight wants to throw the book into Lake Michigan after pumping it full of lead. But Voight knows he's right. This isn't his turf and Fin's letting him in on the investigation as a courtesy. And Rollins is a decent detective.

"Come on then." He says roughly and they head out the door.

Rollins and Voight walk up to Yolanda Diaz's house. It's a small and grey little thing, unobtrusive to the point of almost fading into the background. Nestled among a few large oaks, you'd almost miss it if you weren't paying attention. And maybe that was the point. Walking up to the door, Rollins suggests that maybe she should take the lead on questioning Ms. Diaz. Voight simply raises an eyebrow but refrains from response. He knows that as friendly and cordial the squad has been, he's there simply as a courtesy.

And maybe it might be a good thing not to go in like a bull in a china shop this time.

He could almost hear Al snickering in his head.

 _Hank Voight, showin' restraint? Never thought I'd see the day,_

 _Shut the fuck up, Al. Get out of my head._

Knocking quietly on the door, Rollins and Voight stand quietly, the rustle of the leaves in the breeze and an occasional car being the only sounds this early in the afternoon. Kids are still in school so the neighborhood is quiet and there isn't much noise there anyway since the residents are mostly older retirees.

Perfect for someone to hide.

The creak of the door interrupts Voight's momentary distraction. A slight Hispanic woman peers out, questioningly.

"I don't entertain salesmen." She says firmly. "Good day."

"Ma'am, my name is Detective Rollins, I'm with the NYPD. And this is Sergeant Henry Voight, he's here consulting with us on a case. We have some questions for you."

"I have nothing to say to you." She says abruptly, her eyes shuttering. Both Voight and Rollins see a flash of something a little like fear jump into her eyes but it was so quick it could have been a trick of the afternoon light. Yolanda Diaz keeps the door almost completely shut, unwilling to yield any ground.

"It's about your nephew."

"Diego?" Her lips firmed. "What's he done now?"

"Not Diego." Voight breaks in. "Ricardo."

The fragile woman blanches, licking her lips as if they're suddenly dry.

"I don't know where Ricardo is."

She's lying and Rollins knows it but she soft-pedals, sensing the woman's nervousness.

"Ms. Diaz, can we come in?"

The woman shakes her head and now there's definite fear in her eyes.

"We need to know where your nephew is." Voight says harshly, ignoring Rollin's sigh of irritation. He's tired of pussy-footing. Playing softball never got him anywhere. And's he not in the fucking mood to spare someone's feelings while the woman he…cared for lay in serious condition in the hospital.

"I told you I don't know where he is. And I think you should go."

"But you have spoken to him?" Rollins inquires softly, picking up on all the things she isn't saying.

"I didn't say that." Yolanda spoke curtly, voice shaking. "And I want you both to leave now." _Before he finds out. He can never find out._

"I can't do that." Voight steps forward, placing his hand on the door. "We need to find Ricardo."

"I can't help you." The fear in her eyes was unmistakable now.

"Can't or won't?" He bit off.

"Sergeant." Rollins spoke sharply.

"I…can't." Her face suddenly shuttered, trying to mask the fear.

"It's not Ricardo you're afraid of, is it?" Rollins asks gently, probing at her tattered shields. "It's your other nephew, Adres."

Yolanda moves to quickly shut the door. Voight places his foot in the door way.

"We can protect you." He says quickly, ignoring Rollins' tight lipped irritation at his cavalier offering of their services.

"No one can protect me. Not from him." She responds in a voice so soft they can barely hear.

Hank scans her face and sees the dread in her eyes. He's seen that look before, in the glazed and open eyes of the dead. The ones killed by Adres' hand – or by one of his henchmen. He's seen Adres in action, knows how dangerous he is, how even behind bars, he has people intimidated into silence. They know what he can and will do to people who talk. And, yet, beneath her fear, he can see uncertainty, that she's thinking about saying something. And he has to keep trying. Maybe the part of her that wants to still sleep at night is trying to make its way out.

Voight leans in, hands her his card, his cell phone on the back. "Ricardo is responsible for shooting someone I care about." He says tightly but restraining the urge to shake the information out of her. "Please." He asks her, his gravelly voice soft but firm. "Help us."

She doesn't take his card, let's it drop on the floor. "I can't. I'm sorry. Now leave me alone."

And she closes the door in their faces.

Voight turns around abruptly and heads toward the car.

"Good job pressing her on it." Rollins says, a little testily. "And volunteering us to protect her."

"I didn't notice your soft ball approach getting the job done." He snaps back.

"She's terrified." Rollins hisses. "You, of all people, should understand that!"

 _He does but he had no choice._

"What's that supposed to mean?" Voight growls.

"You think we wouldn't do our research?" Rollins says, a little less abrasively. "We know what Adres has done…who he's killed. And it might not be a bad idea for you to back off."

The unspoken inference is clear: _you're too close_.

"Like hell I will!"

Rollins smiles faintly. "Didn't think you would." She gives his arm a single pat. "I just thought I'd try."

Voight's a little thrown off so he doesn't say anything. Just when he thinks he has her pegged, she surprises him a little.

"She'll be okay, you know."

He starts to say something but then decides to keep his mouth shut. The others in the squad may suspect their relationship but he's not going to verify it for them. Not until Liv is ready.

His phone rings, abruptly shattering the silence.

"Voight here." He answers curtly.

"I think you need to get to the hospital." Tutuola's voice is grim.

"Hospital. Immediately." Voight snaps at Rollins.

She doesn't need to ask which one.

"What's goin' on?" He barks.

"You need to get here now."

….

They make it to the hospital in record time even though those 30 minutes in traffic feel like 30 years to Voight who is gripping his phone so hard his knuckles are white.

 _You need to get here_.

Fear is not a word that Voight uses much in his vocabulary. Mostly because he doesn't let himself experience it. In his field, fear can be deadly. Fear can get you killed. Fear can get you to spill things that should never be spilled. So he's long since tucked it away. Only rarely has it escaped the box he has it tightly locked in.

It's out of that box now and he can barely breathe.

"She's gonna be fine." Rollins says quietly. "Liv's a fighter."

"Thanks but I don't need goddamned platitudes right now." He bites off.

Rollins doesn't say a word in response, simply drives. The trip is too long, too long.

When they get there, Rollins drops him off at the front door and he dashes in.

Tutuola's waiting there, face set, tight, and grim. It's not a look he wears well and it unnerves Hank Voight.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Ease up, man." Fin gently touches him on his jacket. "Liv's developed an infection and it's bad. They've had to move her back to ICU. They're not letting anyone in."

Voight runs his hand through his short cropped hair. Cursing under his breath, he goes over to the vending machine and unleashes his stress on it. But not for long because, fuck, that hurts. He hates feeling this vulnerable, this helpless, this caught in emotions that he's managed to bury and keep locked for a very long time.

He just wants to feel her in his arms again, wants to be buried in her, have her mouth open under his. Feel those strong legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes her to orgasm. He wants to see her head thrown back, mouth open, and feeling her move against him again. Hear her soft laughter as he finds some of her more ticklish spots. That laughter… forget about the sex - which is fucking incredible - he just wants to hear her _laugh_ again.

He just wants her.

Fuck.

Love's a bitch.

 _Get it together, Hank Voight._

Fin grabs his arm tighter. "That ain't gonna help Liv. Chill, man. There's nothing we can do."

"I just saw her yesterday…" Voight whispers to himself. "She was _fine_."

"It came on real quick. I was coming to see her and got here to this. Been here for the last couple hours. They're not telling me anything. Fucking doctors." Fin growls.

Voight pulls himself together and asks him tightly, "How bad is it?"

"It ain't good." Is all Fin says. And that fear that had slipped the confines of that box gripped his chest with sharp talons that dug themselves into his skin, underneath his skin. And he'd never been so afraid.

He may lose her.

He _couldn't_ lose her.

 _She was going to be fine. She just had to be._

Fuck this waiting shit. He was going to hunt down Hernandez. That son of a bitch had to pay.

Abruptly he turns and walks out of the hospital.

"Let him go." Fin says quietly as Rollins starts to head after him. "Maybe he'll find the little fucker and shoot him for us."


End file.
